


My Ghost

by BrinaMay



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Bucky Barnes Feels, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Ghost by Halsey, Hurt/Comfort, Illnesses, Sickness, Songfic, honestly badly written at four in the morning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-30
Updated: 2018-10-30
Packaged: 2019-08-10 00:58:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16460417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrinaMay/pseuds/BrinaMay
Summary: Bucky Barnes was everything she'd ever wanted, and she was exactly he needed. Maybe that's why it hurt so much.





	My Ghost

**Author's Note:**

> "Saying that I love him but  
> I know I'm gonna leave him  
> ...  
> My ghost  
> Where'd you go?  
> I can't find you in the body sleeping next to me  
> My ghost  
> Where'd you go?  
> What happened to the soul that you used to be"  
> Ghost - Halsey

_Day 689_  
She felt breathless.  
Airless.  
Her heart thundering in her chest, beating in time with unheard drums.  
His smile beaconed her, those perfect bow lips promising to add fire to the oil fire already a roar in her heart. Their fingers grazed against each other’s, sparks shooting up her, almost warming her. They laced together, hands held together tightly. They’re bodies were intertwined, a messy pile of bare flesh and sweet sweat, teasingly whispering “I love yous” in between the deep kisses and hickies.  
It suddenly came crashing down, a coldness burning at her as a she lurched forward, the acid burning throat as it came up. She should have eaten something, anything, earlier when she had the opportunity. Her weak hands gripped the toilet lid tighter, unsure if it was her meds or the rotten smell of vomit that made her go a second time. Her body was shaking, trembling as it resting on the cool seat.  
It was three.  
It was always three.  
She tried to brace herself but didn’t have time before the next round came up, barely able to lift her head, tears streaming as the yellow bile burned her throat and nostrils, setting them on fire in her otherwise freezing body. She was shaking, gripping the lid so tightly her knuckles had turned white. The door behind her creaked open, his heavy but silent footsteps almost a reassurance.  
His arms were warm, her personal heater as they often jokingly called him. He lifted her, her frail body painfully light in his arms. Her head resting on his shoulder, the smell of stomach acid and vomit still on her lips when he set her on the bed, being careful as he set her on the bed. He guided the cup to her lips, making her swish out the taste and spit it in the trash can, softly scolding her for not waking him up.  
Her apology was soft, almost silent as she forced the words out. Her voice was breathless, struggling to enunciate, to do anything but breathe. His hand gently smoothed over the top of her head, the slight stubble there almost giving him hope if the known outcome wasn’t so evident. Her eyes were a muted blue, almost grey shade, so different from the ones he’d fallen in love with. She shyly pulled away, covering her mouth as she coughed, the sound raw and rattling.  
He got back in bed behind her, keeping his metal arm under the pillow for his head support, his right hand rubbing gentle circles on her hip, listening to her haggard breathing as she slowly slipped off into sleep, his chest tight. His pain wasn’t like hers, it wasn’t doctors’ visits and the pain of every medication you test not working, it wasn’t the pain of going through all the treatments and tests just to be told no approach has worked so far. His pain came from knowing how hard it was for her to say ‘I love you’ now, how hesitant the words came.  
It came from never knowing when the last time he’d hear those words would be.  
He felt her shiver, lightly pulling away to tug the blankets closer around them, knowing he’d be too hot. Knowing that was freezing. He held her gently against him, relaxing at her soft noise of comfort. He kissed the back of her head, gently listening to the sounds of her breathing.  
Sleep just couldn’t seem to grasp him.

 _Day 719_  
She was been smiling, curled up next to him and laughing about how badly the contestants were on Cupcake Wars, picking out which ones she wanted to go home first. It was the first time in months she’d eaten at least two meals a day for a week solid. He’d fallen in love all over again, the spark was back in her eyes, like a fire had been sparked and there was no stopping her.  
She kissed his cheek, telling him to sit and that she’d grab their sodas from the counter. After all, it was only a few paces from the couch and her prince could come save her. He’d felt grateful, seeing the playful smile on her chapped lips, her cheeks pink, pinker than they’d been yesterday. Pinker than this morning. He should have seen a warning sign, should have been more cautious.  
His heart shattered when he heard the glasses break. 

_Day 721_  
She was still unconscious.  
The doctors had called is a ‘rally recovery’, telling him it usually happened before the final stage.  
He could barely eat, fear and anxiety gnawing at his empty stomach. The wires, tubes, and nurses were too much, he needed space. He needed to stay by her side. _He needed space_. He needed to stay by her side, holding the hand that was too small to wear her wedding band.  
Steve came to sit by him, squeezing his hand. Telling him that the two of them would pull through it, telling him that she was a tough gal, she’d pull through. Last time she was in here for a month after all, two days is nothing. All he had to do was have a little faith.  
But how could he have faith when he couldn’t feel her anymore?

 _Day 723_  
He vomited, body shaking as he hunched over the alley, his knuckles bloody from hitting the brick wall.  
He had run. His stomach nothing but a bundle of pained, tight knots, his heart pounding in his chest, a cruel reminder of what he was running from. His phone kept vibrating in his pocket. It was Steve. Steve or Natasha or her mom or dad, hell, maybe even her sister.  
He couldn’t think.  
He couldn’t breathe.  
All he could hear was the hurried steps of the doctors, his coffee hitting the ground as he watched them go the same direction he needed to be. His feet carried him, just far enough to hear the flat beeps and feel Steve pulling him back.  
He’d stayed just long enough to know that they couldn’t revive her.

 _Day 730_  
He wanted to be anywhere but here. Anywhere but standing in front of the newly planted grave, her headstone still having a waxy looking coating.  
Fresh.  
New.  
Hiding the slowly decomposing body beneath it. Knowing that the body had started falling apart long before it became too much to handle.  
He set the sunflower down, letting it get lost in the roses and carnations and other bullshit flowers left there by people that would think about her every other new moon, from people that didn’t stand beside her nearly every night and day, people that couldn’t be bothered until they needed to be.  
He was dressed in his black suit, Steve having made sure it was sent to the dry cleaners and that his black button up was ironed. He knew it was her favorite, knew she loved the mix of bad boy and classy. She told him when she got shitfaced at a bar somewhere in lower Manhattan. He made sure to wear it on their next date and they missed their reservations.  
He smiled, bitter. His heart was pained, throbbing like a fresh wound. If she saw him know she’d act as if she were fanning herself, mockingly saying something in French and pretending to fate in his arms with a kiss being the only thing able to revive her.  
He sat down, staring at her headstone, remembering how in love he was with her. How much he still is in love with her. The way her hips would saunter as she swayed around their cozy apartment, singing along with whatever playlist she had, captivating him and making him fall in love with her every chance she got.  
He smiled bitterly, tears hot, telling her grave that he kept his promise. That he had stayed by her side until the very end.  
Telling her happy anniversary.

**Author's Note:**

> yeah I need to work on other fanfictions, but I'm thinking about just expanding this a tad bit more?


End file.
